She hangs my bed sheet with its huge stain on the clothesline so everyone in the neighborhood, including all my friends, can see it. How can a kid store up all that urine in his bladder? Tell me, will you?
I don't say anything about the sheet, but I tell you this: I'm totally embarrassed. My friends don't say anything, but I'm certain they know I know they know.
Any morning when I wake up and discover I'm not wet, I am absolutely amazed. Astounded, I tell you. What did I do differently the night before? I ask myself. The answer is nothing. I didn't do anything differently.
The sheet flaps in the wind all day long before she takes it down the basement and tosses it in the washing machine and then the dryer. I ask you: Why didn't she just wash and dry it in the morning? I guess she wants to embarrass me.
That same sheet goes on my bed until a rip and later a large hole takes the place of the spot.
She, by the way, is my mother.
"Gordy, wake up."
By the way, I'm Gordy, as if you didn't know already. My full name is Gordon Bartholomew Hoffman.
"Did you piss the bed?"
Tell me, why should I answer her? She knows I'm the only kid in this family who is able to walk on his own and still piss the bed most nights. Does she think I wake up in the middle of the night, a mere six feet away from the bathroom, stand up in bed, whizz all over the sheet, and then get all comfortable in that sea of yellow? To be totally honest, sometimes I wake up when I'm actually doing it, but it's too late to do anything, right? Besides, everything's warm and cozy, so to speak.
Obviously, I'm her reject.
When she wakes me, I know what's coming.
"Did you piss the bed?" she demands again.
What am I going to do? Answer her? Gordy Hoffman might be a reject but he's no fool. All she has to do is throw off the covers and she’d see it. She tosses the covers off me as if a rattlesnake was on top and was just about to strike her.
"You lazy bones," she screams and grabs me by the hair and rubs—no, that's not the word. She grinds my face in the piss. I'm the only kid in town who's got sheet burns on his face.
She did the same with her cats she trains, grinds their noses in their poop or pee. The cat screeches bloody murder.
After it gets a nose-full, she takes it to the back door, opens the door, and literally pitches the damned cat as far as she can.
I really felt sorry for her latest cat who is now so scared it jumps up on the rear door's screen and stays there until she notices it. She opens the door and the cat pulls back its claws, jumps down, and hurries off to do what it needs to do. Before she grinds its nose in poop or pee once again.
I don't say anything about the sheet, but I tell you this: I'm totally embarrassed. My friends don't say anything, but I'm certain they know I know they know.
Any morning when I wake up and discover I'm not wet, I am absolutely amazed. Astounded, I tell you. What did I do differently the night before? I ask myself. The answer is nothing. I didn't do anything differently.
The sheet flaps in the wind all day long before she takes it down the basement and tosses it in the washing machine and then the dryer. I ask you: Why didn't she just wash and dry it in the morning? I guess she wants to embarrass me.
That same sheet goes on my bed until a rip and later a large hole takes the place of the spot.
She, by the way, is my mother.
"Gordy, wake up."
By the way, I'm Gordy, as if you didn't know already. My full name is Gordon Bartholomew Hoffman.
"Did you piss the bed?"
Tell me, why should I answer her? She knows I'm the only kid in this family who is able to walk on his own and still piss the bed most nights. Does she think I wake up in the middle of the night, a mere six feet away from the bathroom, stand up in bed, whizz all over the sheet, and then get all comfortable in that sea of yellow? To be totally honest, sometimes I wake up when I'm actually doing it, but it's too late to do anything, right? Besides, everything's warm and cozy, so to speak.
Obviously, I'm her reject.
When she wakes me, I know what's coming.
"Did you piss the bed?" she demands again.
What am I going to do? Answer her? Gordy Hoffman might be a reject but he's no fool. All she has to do is throw off the covers and she’d see it. She tosses the covers off me as if a rattlesnake was on top and was just about to strike her.
"You lazy bones," she screams and grabs me by the hair and rubs—no, that's not the word. She grinds my face in the piss. I'm the only kid in town who's got sheet burns on his face.
She did the same with her cats she trains, grinds their noses in their poop or pee. The cat screeches bloody murder.
After it gets a nose-full, she takes it to the back door, opens the door, and literally pitches the damned cat as far as she can.
I really felt sorry for her latest cat who is now so scared it jumps up on the rear door's screen and stays there until she notices it. She opens the door and the cat pulls back its claws, jumps down, and hurries off to do what it needs to do. Before she grinds its nose in poop or pee once again.
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